My street’s the icing on the cake
Smoothly fashioned, pristine white
With wind that whips it into shape
As Jack Frost sculpts it overnight.
But who will see this work of art
In all its glory thus spread out?
Before the dawn dispels the dark
Dogs, men and gritters have gone out.
As in the hymn this silent night
Where heavy clouds shield us from stars
Recalls to mind that ancient light
That shone on distant worlds from ours.
But human kind is never still
Cars soon rev in angry mood
Commuters slip slide down the hill
As many on this scene intrude.
Who stops to marvel at this sight
The beauty of a cleaned up slate?
None but this poet stunned by white
Who pens these words by breakfast plate...
(c) Poet in the woods 2018